The Effect She Has
by apromptdisregarded
Summary: (First shot at fanfic-Reviews Needed!) An interpretation of what could have happened to the crew after Katniss utters those words, "If we burn, you burn with us," in District 8. Aspects from MJ novel and film included. Blood, drama and angst, Cressida POV
1. of Rubble and Screaming

**AN: Hey! This is my first shot at writing Fanfic, so I love reviews! Anyway, this is my interpretation of what should have happened in District 8, just after Katniss gave her "if we burn, you burn with us" speech, particularly after she fell to her knees in front of the hospital during the movie, but THIS IS NOT A MOVIE FIC. Just a plot bunny I wanted to write with my own touches, incorporating the novel and film. **

**~Cressida POV, but a little OOC, cause I wanted her to have more of the movie's Natalie Dormer baddassery.**

** ~No pairings, you could argue for Cressida/Boggs, but not intended or recommended. **

**~Multi-chapter oneshot. **

**~ Disclaimer: Mama Collins owns it all. **

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><p><strong>Katniss pov<strong>

_"Yes," I say more forcefully. Everyone is drawing away from me-Gale, Cressida, the insects-giving me the stage. But I stay focused on the red light. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors."_

_ The shock I've been feeling begins to give way to fury. "I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." My hands go out automatically, as if to indicate the whole horror around me. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!"_

_I'm moving in toward the camera now, carried forward by my rage. "President Snow says he's sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" One of the cameras follows as I point to the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse across from us. The Capitol seal on a wing glows clearly through the flames. "Fire is catching!" I am shouting now, determined that he will not miss a word. "And if we burn, you burn with us!"_

**Cressida pov**

Her words hang in the air, suspended in time by the wreckage and the heavy breathing of our squad.

All motion stilled. Those sentences taunting us from the sky.

The entire group remains silent for a long and punishing moment, not quite sure if she's finished with her speech. I'm only satisfied that Katniss is genuinely done when she turns herself away from the camera, facing the steaming lump and carnage that was once the District 8 hospital, and falls to her knees in an act that I can only liken to anguish. Like all the fight has drained from her.

It's the same look she got when Rue died in her arms during her first games, when I was only a film producer in the Capital. I saw Katniss appearing just as she does now, on one of those massive screens that penetrated about every foot of the city during that time of year. Even the Capital citizens took pause.

So much blood. So many flowers.

Religion doesn't exist in Panem; it was all banned and wiped out during the Dark Days. But I swear in that moment two years ago, every last person with an available screen might have been praying in absolute silence

None of us wanted to see Katniss morning like that, for a girl, only a child, with a spear lodged in her stomach cavity. It was too private; too painful_. _

_She has an effect, I'll give her that. _

But this is not something that we should be filming.

"Cut. That's a wrap." I utter so silently I'm sure they didn't hear it.

I pivot and point to Castor and Pollux, repeating myself in a louder tone and addressing the whole group. "Turn it off. We're done. I want us all packed up and out of here _soon_. Boggs, is there any way to call into 13 for a rescue hovercraft? I know those Capital bombers likely won't continue shooting, but-"

"We don't want to be so _exposed_," Boggs picks up my thought sternly, "not here; not like this," he says, gesturing his eyes slightly to Katniss, who's back is still to us and appears to remain in a trance by the smoldering remains, "I'll request for one immediately," he finishes, and goes off to make a call.

When he leaves, Castor and Pollux begin to pack up the cameras, while Gale and Messala have a word with Commander Paylor – I assume about bringing in District 13 rescue teams for the hospital. _They won't need to_, I think. _Don't they already know what they might find?_ Katniss was probably right, when she said that there "_would be no survivors_." Severely injured bodies can't survive beneath so much concrete and brick; and as far as I could see, everyone in the building was severely injured.

Or dead, of course.

Noticing that I'm the only one not preoccupied, I take it upon myself to see what can be done about our Mockingjay. Try to comfort her a little, I guess, considering how much pain she must be in now. Although I'm not sure what I could say.

I'm not good with words. They make me uneasy. I'm better at setting scenes that other people can put words into.

And, though it's selfish, I feel slightly on edge about being alone with Katniss Everdeen. I always knew that she was stubborn, unpredictable, and occasionally violent (the claw marks on Haymitch's face were a constant reminder), but in these last few months, she's also been dangerously unstable. Everyone who I've spoken to in the District 13 hospital think she's going _mad_.

But brushing the tattooed vines against my scalp, running my fingers through the portion of my hair that isn't shaved, I accept that there's no point in quarreling with myself, and begin to walk over to her.

Katniss seems unfazed by what _anybody_ else is doing, or at least based on what I can see from the back of her. I can only wonder if this trip might have done some damage to her brain, more so than what there had been already. I'd seen how she received a concussion during the Quarter Quell (Johanna's work), but I'd also been told that she was deteriorating long before she was handed that _mentally disoriented_ bracelet on her wrist, even before the Quell was announced.

Prim and her mother depicted the ravenous nightmares she endured every night, and Gale explained that there were often times when they were hunting in the woods, and she'd mistake shooting down a turkey to murdering a fellow tribute; Cato, Glimmer, Marvel, and she'd go completely insane and scream until he could calm her down.

Haymitch told me how mentally and physically sick she was during the Victory Tour. _"She had to take these pills from Effie- can you imagine that? I mean, a girl as stubborn as Katniss? Accepting anything from anybody? That was a big deal, right there. We all knew that the sweetheart had to be pretty run-down then" _he had told me once while under a drunken and mumbling stupor.

Even Cinna, when he was alive and when we were in correspondence as a part of the underground Capital rebels, described taking in her dresses at the waist and layering makeup to hide the shadows under her eyes that signified lack of sleep, during those weeks traveling through the districts by train.

I trip like this, I realize, could push her completely over the edge.

_She's practically Annie Cresta_, I think, but take it back immediately. I've seen victors. Almost all of them have been damaged. And I know that it isn't their fault.

* * *

><p>When I'm about halfway to where Katniss kneels, I can finally <em>inhale<em> the sight of her.

From the distance, about 30 or 35 yards away, the first thing I take notice of is how faintly she's _breathing_. Her shoulders rise to indicate an intake of air almost inconceivably. She also appears to have positioned herself in a quizzical, swaying motion; it's as if her body is genuinely _careening_ from side to side, unable to control herself, about to fall over any second.

I pick up my pace, knowing that this can't be right. The way she's moving is that of a very _injured_ person- I'd seen this action in many of those who contracted head or limb injuries doing stunts when I still made movies- But I can't tell if the damage here was sustained in her mind or body; perhaps both.

Her swaying is increasing in magnitude now, like she's going to collapse entirely without warning. The moment I see her knees twist and fall to the left, my own legs give way into a sprint, and I'm suddenly pumping my arms and legs at a rapid speed _simply to reach her_.

I converge on Katniss's head and chest just in time to break her topple, resting her more gently in the rubble by breaking the fall. _Bombs got her_, I think. When I catch sight of the back of her left shin; I know that I am right. There's a pool of very _scary_ blood forming beneath it, and a massive wound that I'm sure was caused by some kind of shrapnel.

I whip my head around and yell to the others, "She's hurt! Bad, I think! Boggs, Emergency hovercraft! And Medical! We need it now!"

When I catch their attention, the entire squad comes running toward us like a wave, and I leave Gale and Messala to collapse by Katniss's bleeding leg while Pollux and I take the responsibility of examining her head. Boggs stands above with Castor, doing all they can to break through to District 13 and scrounge up someone to take them back.

Pollux and I shift over, so that we can see Katniss's face, but with a single glance I can tell the situation is fruitless.

She's unresponsive, almost entirely. Aside from a strikingly pale skin pallor that I blame on blood-loss, She's not recognizing voices, or movement, even a flick on her cheek. Pollux takes her head into his lap and begins to comb her hair with his fingers, I think in a kind of calming action for Katniss's sake, while she stares out into space, focusing past us with an odd, slightly confused look. Dead to the world.

It's like none of us are truly _there _to her. She's looking through us with such intensity that I feel like a ghost myself. I keep looking behind me to see if someone might actually be there; a Capital bomber, a District 8 citizen crawling from the rubble of the hospital.

The air has gone stale and tense as everyone attempts to locate what is wrong with her; but none of us want to admit that her condition isn't surprising. We knew she was unstable, and we all had our doubts about her ability to perform.

"Katniss, can you hear us?" I ask her gently, even though I know there will be no answer, "Katniss, we're all here; do you... know where you are?" I tap her cheek and wave my hand in front of her eyes desperately.

Blinking. But still looking through us. No motion.

Despair settles on all of our faces.

"Boggs, she's unresponsive. How do we… approach this? What are we going to tell Coin when we come back with a shell shocked Mockingjay?"

"We tell her exactly what happened," replies Boggs, relatively unfazed by the predicament, although I know he's focused on getting us a hovercraft, "unexpected bomber attack. Caught us all by surprise."

"But _she_ ran straight _into_ the unexpected bomber attack! Gale practically broke your nose trying to help her escape!" I press, pointing at Gale.

"Leave that detail out, then," Boggs recovers swiftly, slightly probing his still-bleeding nose, "besides, it won't matter, what with the footage we got. Coin couldn't care less if she's injured, just that she performed. It's cruel, but we both know that's the case. Don't stress, Cressida. And, while she _is_ still unresponsive, I suggest you look at that leg, try to wrap it up. Spare her the pain of being conscience.

Gale and Messala nod, and turn to probe the enflamed flesh surrounding the wound. However, the second a finger brushes her leg, I notice that Katniss's face has taken on a severe complexion. For a moment, she seems stymied, shifting her pupils this way and that, rapidly, as if she's confused. Her eyebrows furrow so intensely, I could swear they were tempted to leap from her forehead.

Then, she begins to _scream_.

A howling, endless scream, as her fingers tear at the rumble, cutting her hands, as if she's trying to dig something free. Only, she's not screaming from the pain, or her head, or her leg.

She's screaming for Peeta.

Her face is mutilated into one of complete terror, as she _screams_ for him, his name over and over again as if it is her own. Screaming for Peeta to _run from the tracker jackers,_ to _climb the Cornucopia_, to _not leave her_. Asking _where he is_, screaming that _the fog is poison_, to _get to the beach and escape the monkeys_, That _the arena was a clock_, that _the Cornucopia is spinning_, that _the Jabberjays were attacking her and Finnick_. Screaming for him to _reach the lightning tree_.

She's not here at all.

Physically, she might be, but her mind is gone, relieving the 74th and 75th Hunger Games, and Peeta seems to be completely caught in it all.

We abandon the hopes of healing her leg, but she still won't stop. She just keeps screaming. I'm not even sure that she breathes.

None of us can listen for very long. But it's not because of the noise.

Pollux continues to stroke her, and I do my best to wrap some cloth around her bleeding hands.

Boggs reports that the hovercraft is on its way, without emotion, while Messala and Castor prepare Katniss to be lifted and carried to the runway.

Gale just stares at her. Angry, but blank.

_She has an effect, I'll give her that_.

About 15 minutes in, her voice cuts off completely, gone hoarse, unable to scream any longer. But she continues to whisper Peeta's name.

_Too private. Too painful. _

And we wait.

* * *

><p>It seems like years before the hovercraft arrives. We are all so worn and tired by then, completely exposed, that it takes both Gale and Boggs to carry Katniss to the landing strip. It's probably a good thing, too, because halfway to the craft she regains some consciousness, and her head tips forward just enough to vomit up whatever still remains in her stomach. And with them each holding one arm over their shoulders, puke didn't get on anyone.<p>

_Concussions_, I think. _Messing with everything._

Avoiding the puddle, Boggs and Gale set her down just long enough to allow Katniss to empty herself, gagging and groaning significantly, and then lift her again to continue making our way toward the hovercraft.

I dodge the mess she leaves on the concrete- a sickly mixture of blood and bile- and run my hand along the tattooed vines on my scalp again.

I guess it's a nervous tic.


	2. of Hovercrafts and Rusted Buckets

**Disclaimer: Mama Collins owns it all.**

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><p><strong>Cressida POV<strong>

Something tells me that Boggs left out the slight detail of it being _Katniss_ that was injured.

The pilot and two assistants- a man and a woman- aboard the craft can't seem to shake the puzzlement from their faces when they see us hauling her up the ramp. Their gasps and gaping mouths reaffirm my suspicion that they had no idea of what's been going on in district 8 _at all_. At least, not until I yell at them to "_get the mockingjay some goddamn medical assistance!"_

That shuts them up.

Laying Katniss down on a mat in the center of the craft floor, the rest of the crew collapses in the seats that decorate the outer-walls. Shedding our thick vests and weapons, some of us make the decision to rest until we reach 13. Boggs and I stay up, watching the assistants work feverishly (they must have been doctors in 13, because they seem to know what they're doing) on her.

The trouble is that each hovercraft is only equipped with a small first aid kit, due to strict war rationing, and Katniss requires far more than what is available. They've only got one shot of morphling, and it won't last the entire trip. As far as supplies, all that I take inventory of is a roll of gauze, cotton balls, and bandages. Not so much as a needle and thread for stitching wounds.

But since I've come here, I recognize that 13 isn't the place where people sacrifice resources to save dying lives. They think of people like breeding stock; the more you have, the more you can let die without worry.

To them, perhaps, the Mockingjay is _dispensable_.

* * *

><p>They tackle her leg first, cleaning it – though it continues to bleed - and wrap it with as much gauze that they have available, since they'll be no hope of stitching it up. After deliberation, they choose to inject the morphling, in the hopes that it might keep her asleep for the majority of the travel. When the plunger is pushed and it enters her bloodstream, I think I can almost hear her sigh.<p>

The woman turns to me and Boggs, breathless, "Chances are that her leg will end up bleeding through the bandages, and what's wrapping it up now is all we've got. Do you think one of you could, find a bucket? Or some kind of container? It sounds gruesome, but it'll keep her leg elevated and… prevent unwanted _stains_ on the craft," she says warily.

My stomach tightens as the image of red gauze permeates my vision. "You think it'll start dripping through?" I ask.

"Unfortunately," responds the man this time, not looking up, "I don't think. I _know_."

I'd seen gashes like hers before, and I know it shouldn't affect me like this. But the ones I've seen are done with makeup and special effects; never as bad, never as _real_ as what I see now.

I take a shaky breath.

"I'll find something," assures Boggs, and he rises, submerging into the cockpit of the craft, emerging a few moments later with a rusted metal bucket, that seems remarkably out of place considering how _new_ everything that comes from 13 looks.

Setting it by the assistants, he explains, "The pilot says he can get motion sickness…more than occasionally. Keeps this with him whenever he goes up."

"Then why the hell did he think it would be smart to pilot fucking hovercrafts?" I ask, knowing that everyone is somewhat shocked by my words. One thing the Capital has granted me with was the ability to curse freely. Profanity is seen as the norm in the city, whereas the districts almost never output obscenities. But they all manage to shake off my poor mouth.

"Not sure. Maybe the _honor_ of the thing is enough? I mean, imagine it; flying in low pressure every day, losing your lunch; oh, and I hear_ flight attendants make it all worth it,"_ he replies sarcastically, walking over to his seat, and removing his canteen from our packs on the floor.

"What?" I chuckle, "Was that the _profound Boggs_ I heard cracking a joke?" I jest. "I thought you didn't know what humor was?"

"Clearly you don't know anything about me," Boggs smirks, taking a swig from his water and winking.

"Now what is that? Flirting?" I ask, genuinely curious, but still laughing at him.

"What?" He seems surprised. "No! I have a wife and child! I was just trying to, lighten the mood a little, I guess" he says, glancing at Katniss's form. "I'm not sure. I don't exactly _perform_ well under pressure."

"_Don't perform well under pressure?_" Laughing, I respond, "You know I don't buy that! Not for a second! When we were down there in 8, you were calmer than anyone I've ever seen. Pressure doesn't faze you. Meanwhile, I was shaking like a leaf."

He shrugs away, "Maybe. But I nearly lost it, when you told us that Katniss was injured. I'm concerned for her, you know?" he sighs, eying her again, "I feel responsible for her; like a father, almost. She's only 17."

"Yeah," I sigh. "I feel the same way sometimes. Her screaming like that, by the hospital wreckage?" I shuddered. "She has an effect, I'll give her that."

"Yeah," he states conclusively, and we end it there.

I focus my attention to Katniss's body in the middle of the hovercraft. The assistants have propped her leg up on the bucket, but the rest of her limbs are frayed out on the floor, arms at odd angles, head lying to one side on a rolled-up mat that sufficed as a pillow. Her braid is undone –I suspect from Pollux's work- and the hair that was once in in is tangled, a few strands resting on her dangerously pale face and shifting slightly when she exhales. Looking at her wound, I can see the first tint of red seeping through the white bandage. He was right, then, the assistant. About the bleeding, and the bucket.

I want to do something- to help any way I can to insure that she actually _survives_ this trip, that no more harm can be done to her. But no one can do anything but wait. I can't help, and because of my inability, I feel help_less_.

I've never been a mother; I was declared infertile more than a decade and a half ago due to severe medical complications I've never spoken of to anyone but doctors. It's partially why I was drawn to film after, I suppose. To create scenes was like creating my own children. To create characters with their own children.

But Katniss, now, feels so close to a daughter for me, that it hurts to watch her in pain.

I ache for her.


	3. of Nightmares and Jabberjays

Nightmares.

I should have remembered what Prim said.

_"It happens whenever she falls asleep," sighed Prim, "or at least when Peeta isn't there to comfort her. One second, she's fine, dead to the world, and then the next; like she's gone mad. Tearing at her sheets and screaming at something in the dark that no one else can see. Usually we can't stop it; you just wait for her to calm down herself. Peeta, when he was here, was so much better. He held her and stayed, for as long as it would take. He never slept until she did."_

_Whenever she falls asleep_, I think.

The morphling might have been a poor choice.

I can see that its affect is wearing off only minutes before she rouses. I notice Katniss's eyes start to flutter, her mouth moving, as if to say something. Then her arms twitch, elbows reflex.

I have seconds to warn the others before the attack comes.

Luckily, she's noticeably weaker from the blood loss, and it's easier to keep her from thrashing too violently. She starts to convulse and scream something about Rue, Cato, a few other tributes from her games, I think. Boggs takes the right of her while I handle the left, and the moment she starts flailing, we pin her down just enough to prevent the bucket – which has already been filling with blood- resting on her leg from toppling.

Her screaming woke the others, too, and they're all leaning beside us, waiting for her to recognize her surroundings. "Katniss, calm down, shhh, shhh, listen, it was just a nightmare. You're okay, you're okay," I speak softly, hoping my words might aid her into reality.

It takes a long while before the fog clears.

Still panting, Katniss stops moving and collapses against the mat, shutting her eyes. She moans profusely, but remains shaking with odd tremors that seem to run up and down her body, whispering something about tributes and clocks. Ravaged by fear and pain.

Leaning back, I exhale deeply and look at Boggs, "I guess the morphling wore off."

"Yeah," he responds blankly, rubbing his temple like he as a headache." I don't know how we'll get through the rest of the trip. The important thing now is to make sure she gets out of this stupor," looking at Katniss with the same expression I saw on him a few hours ago, when everyone else was asleep, staring at her with severe intensity.

It's the look of a father. A caregiver unable to help those needing care.

Pollux seems to take back the role he served while we were in 8, because he carefully removes the mat beneath her head, lifts her into his lap, and continues to stroke her with a touch I can only liken to butterfly wings. Humming a smooth melody lightly to her ear; I know it's the only sound he can make as an avox.

When her breathing evens, ours does as well, and we all finally manage to relax. Katniss seems lucid again, if only in pain and exhausted. Pollux, I notice, has this kind of effect on people. He's calming. Peaceful.

Taking in a sharp breath, and wincing, she mumbles, "hu..rts, he…ad" and it sounds like her tongue is taking up all of the space in her mouth. "I.. can't,_ feel_… my legggg…" she moans, and Gale glances in the bucket propping up her wound to find a blood level about an inch and a half high.

"She's lost so much blood, Cressida." Gale responds shakily. "It's like she's translucent, so _pale_."

When I speak, I not sure if I'm addressing Katniss or Gale, but I lean in toward her, "I know, we know, but we're almost home, okay? You'll feel better then." I talk in a lulling tone.

She winces again, and sounds like she did after the poison fog attacked her during the Quarter Quell, when she was trying to signal to Peeta and Finnick that _the water… the, water helpsss…_

"How long until we get to 13?" I say to nobody in particular.

"I'll ask the pilot," I'm surprised to hear Messala respond. He's been relatively quiet all day.

It feels like too long before he finally returns from the cockpit. "We've got maybe an hour," he says, "but the pilot was looking a little… green…"

I take a sideways glance as Boggs and nearly smirk, remembering our discussion about the pilot's motion sickness not too long ago. But we're all too focused on Katniss to bother with humor. Aspecially now, when she looks about as close to death as a person could get.

Boggs inhales sharply, and speaks warily "She… She might not make it, the whole way… But I don't know what else we can do-"

It's as though Gale explodes at Bogg's words.

"We have to do something! We can't just stand here like maniacs and let her die!" He practically yells at him.

I speak up, maintaining a remarkably even tone despite how terrified I am, "Gale, calm down. She'll probably be fine, you just can't worry now, Okay? Yelling at everyone will only make it wors-"

"I can't believe you people! Honestly! Use strips of clothing, find something! Fix the wound! You can't just abandon her!" he says apoplectically, the stress of the day having built up and finally breaking down his sanity.

"We're not abandoning her." Boggs speaks firmly. "You're right- we can tear fabric from our uniforms to make more bandages. Frankly, I was probably overestimating the situation; odds are we'll get to 13 just fin-"

He won't listen.

"THIS IS NOT JUST ANY SITUATION, BOGGS! This is a human life! Katniss's life!"

Launching himself at our commander, I think Gale plans to punch him in the face, but Boggs intercepts Gale's hand easily, grasping his Gale's fist with his own. His raises his eyebrows as if to ask, "_Really? What do you hope to achieve?_"

Astonishment, perhaps bewilderment plays out on Gale's complexion; be it from his own unexpected violence or Bogg's reflexes, I can't be sure.

"Restrain him."

Boggs yells with more evenness than what I've ever seen. Like a brick wall, but stronger. Impenetrable.

Pollux and Castor converge on Gale, tying his arms to one of the seats on the craft while he thrashes, screaming something about _Fucking Peeta_ and _This isn't her fault_ and _Look at her; are you insane?_

Tensions are higher than they've ever been amidst the crew. I consider just how desperately our situation has escalated from when we were on the ground. Then, we were only concerned with getting a hovercraft; now, we're contemplating the reality of death.

As it seems, Katniss's unconscious form has more of an effect on people than her conscience one.

_Wait, no_, I think. That's not right. She_ is_ awake; she just got out of that stupor the morphling put her under. That means she's hearing everything…

It's like I'm only noticing for the first time. Pollux's hands have moved away from her head, and now Katniss's ears are covered firmly by her own hands, eyes locked shut, while she moans and hums that _mouse ran up the clock_ tune that Wiress kept singing during the Quarter Quell.

Like when she was trapped in the Jabberjay section of the arena during those games, only now she's trying to block out _Gale's words_.

Yes. The Jabberjays.


	4. of Hospitals and Enough

It takes too long before everyone finally calms down.

By the time we reach 13, Gale is passed out in the chair he's restrained to, Castor and Messala can barely keep their eyes open, Boggs is speaking with the hovercraft assistants, and Pollux and I attempt to comfort Katniss while she shakes ceaselessly. She keeps wincing, mumbling something about the cold, even though to the rest of us is seems to be burning in the craft, as we continue to shed our layers of protective gear. I blame the concussion, messing with her nerves again, but with all that's happened I'm sure her immune system is worn and weak. It doesn't seem odd that she's starting to fall ill.

I press the back of my hand to her sickly white forehead and find it slightly warm. _Could be a fever_, I think, but we're so close to the district 13 hospital it doesn't really matter.

Touching down in the vast hangar where they store hovercraft, the pilot opens the hatch without hesitation. I suspect that Boggs had called in advance to warn them of Katniss's severe injuries, because it appears as though we've acquired an odd kind of waiting party at the ramp. Doctors rush forward with a stretcher and I'm not surprised to see her mother and Prim amidst the lab coats. We must look like a mess, with Gale tied down, Katniss nearly bleeding to death, and all of us seconds from dropping like flies from exhaustion.

I think I spot Coin and Plutarch with the doctors as well, off in the corner, drifting in the shadows of the hanger, merely observing the group. They only stay a moment, and I can tell that they're both disappointed by the condition of the squad, but it's hard for Plutarch to shake his obvious anticipation when Castor and Pollux hand him the tapes and explain that they will meet him in command to edit it all later. He's practically shaking from what I think is excitement. Eager to see what the Mockingjay has put forth.

* * *

><p>Despite how tired we are, the crew manages to lift her into the stretcher, and I hear Prim release an almost inconceivable gasp when she takes in the sight of her sister. I put my hand on her shoulder, lightly, and watch as they pull Katniss away to the hospital.<p>

I pull my mouth close to Prim's ear, and whisper, "her performance was beautiful. I'll let you be the first to see the footage."

The corners of her mouth lift just slightly.

I don't know how it was enough. Enough to calm Prim, just the knowledge that her sister; her mad, dying, damaged sister, had done well, out there in 8. That, in spite of everything, Katniss had not lost her fight, her resilience. That was enough.

Then, our squad picks up the pace and runs behind that mass of doctors, wanting to make sure they get her to the hospital alright.

I know we don't have to come, but everyone is so scared and attached now- with Katniss's blood _literally _on some of our own hands- that we can't bear to leave her alone with them.

When she catches sight of Prim jogging behind the stretcher, Katniss sticks her right arm-the hand still wrapped in bandages- through the shallow bumpers on either side and reaches for Prim's form, as if to pull her body close to her. She's too weak to speak, but pushes her face against the metal bumpers and into the corner of the mattress, staring in Prim with a combination of terror and longing.

Picking up her pace, Prim lifts her hand to Katniss's and locks her fingers around the palm. With the speed of the doctors, it practically looks like she's being pulled against her will, but she doesn't drop her hand.

It's not until we reach the hospital and Katniss is wheeled into a private room for surgery, that she finally lets go.

* * *

><p>The doctors think that she will be okay, with recovery. The wound will heal, and her head with mend with time. She will merely be weak for a long while, they say reassuringly.<p>

But they're wrong.

She was never weak. Not now, not then. Like Boggs, Katniss is an impenetrable brick wall. One that is cracking, yes, but an individual with so many opportunities to crumble _must_ be strong enough, to keep herself together. Weak, was never an option.

There are tears on Prim's cheeks.

On all of ours.

It's all those _words_; they're hanging over us again, looming clouds of her punishing sentences.

_If we burn, you burn with us._

_She has an effect,_

_I'll give her that._

* * *

><p><strong><em>I think you know how the rest plays out ;). <em>**

**_AN- Well, there it is! the final chapter (unless I'm somehow encouraged by any of you to keep writing it)! I hope you all enjoyed the story, it was really exciting to write and it was a pleasure to have you read it! If it is possible for you to write a review I would greatly appreciate it, otherwise I just love the views! Thank you for taking the time!_**


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